


a requiem to chivalry

by twistmyleg



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hugs, Platonic Relationships, Spoilers, byleth is being a good parent to their son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 04:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistmyleg/pseuds/twistmyleg
Summary: Why should Ashe's grief toward his father be considered a sin?*Spoilers for after Chapter 3 and a bit of Ashe's supports*





	a requiem to chivalry

**Author's Note:**

> if intsys will not give me the "byleth is a good parent" content I guess I have to do it myself huh
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“ _ We look to you, Saint Seiros, like a red rose _

_ Which seeks the sun of the goddess no matter where it grows. _

_ We long to stay where her light dwells _

_ To guard against the cold of our sins we know so well. _

_ May her light and your protection ever guide us and those whose hearts were scorched by flame. _

_ Amen.” _

It should not have been him.

The Church argued there was no other choice. Yet given some reflection, flexibility could be seen between the lines. After all, his fellow students were within the vicinity amdist the dying fog, no? Yes, for Annette spotted him first atop their stronghold, wind spell dancing from her fingers and cutting through the air once in warning, twice in a fading blow. Two gusts should have done it, especially as he barked vengenance to “Thunderstrike Cassandra” darting through the trees with a flashing blade. Even if they hesitated, surely she would have claimed her prize - or price - and there would be nothing to reflect on.

But no. For Annette’s defenses came as a consequence from reveling in her success, proud of her efforts. And Mercedes shrieked across the field in caution, silenced by Felix clashing swords with an approaching soldier (acquaintance,  _ friend _ ) threatening their lives. With Dedue at His Highness’ side, despite his objections, and the Professor guarding a church soldier and Ingrid from an assassin’s dagger (study partner,  _ comrade _ ), no one could protect Annette from being impaled. He loved him, but Annette was a student and friend not unlike their enemies who taught him tactics as a study partner, bringing rancid sweets to others and her kindness disintegrating in front of him propelled him to make his blade dance in front of gray and blue and red, so much red the Black Eagles would be impressed alongside a darkened hand on his shoulder bringing him closer, tired eyes begging for salvation...or atonement?

_ Why, Lonato? _

_ Why Lonato? _

And the hand squeezed as if in prayer before slipping onto bloodied tile with its body, horse fleeing into the distance at the knight’s approach and blade. Through slitted armor and cloth stood a hilt similar to the one of his blade, worn strands drifting softly in the breeze. Or was it? Perhaps lingering fog blurrred his view, or a once gleeful Annette slowly guided him away from what was not the first gruesome sight he committed to memory.

_ Why did this have to happen? Why did the Goddess allow this to be? _

Maybe Lonato asked the same. But Ashe does not have the answer he found.

Even if he stares long and hard at the statues of the four saints, or the dais where Lady Rhea conducts sermons to the masses, or the stained glass creating beautiful reflections on the floor, nothing. Yet the cathedral lures Ashe for answers, for elsewhere in Garreg Mach thoughts of consequences and grief are discarded in favor of the upcoming rite and the presumed assassination letter on Lonato’s desk. At least here, sinners and saints alike could reflect their heart’s aches in hymn and prayer begging the Goddess for forgiveness. Even if he had no reason to ask.

Lady Rhea assured their killings were under the protection of the Goddess. As they meted punishment to sinners, they faced no consequences. But did she forget the effects it would have on the students? If no one else, at least him  _ knowing  _ he was Lord Lonato’s adoptive son and in the class requested for the mission? Certainly not, for then she insisted the matter be kept under hushed terms before turnning her attention to events she deemed worthy of her presence, with guidance by the Goddess. Almost as if she knew what was best for the monastery, let alone those across the far reaches of Fodlan.

Ashe shakes his head where he is seated on a wooden bench, a few meters from the dais where Mercedes and Marianne harmonize in prayer. Thoughts like that spoken publicly would earn him more trouble than he could afford. After all, one mistake would get him expelled, and where could his yonger siblings go besides under the care of a trusted guardian?

Out the open archway the sun begins to set. He cannot remember when he had entered; another day wasted in contemplation. Already disappointing to himself, and what would His Highness think? Especially with their duty to guard the monastery with the upcoming rite? His archery needed improvement, given he ever pick up a blade again after Madgred. His Highness granted him silent sympathy, darkened eyes demanding he grieve how he must. But no knight could avoid their duty for long. Felix would scoff at his tardy return and Ingrid focused in her own training and woes. Perhaps Annette and Mercedes would ofter the same sweets - half needing sugar, the other needing to burn - but he has no heart to cook or even eat. Sylvain was out of the picture of sympathy. Maybe Dedue, but approaching him was difficult if they could not converse about their shared hobby. And considering his own losses…

A hand squeezed his shoulder slightly, enough for Ashe to jump in his seat, wide green eyes staring at neutral blue. It takes him a few moments to realize  _ it’s not Lonato _ , but rather his enigmatic professor bundled in their overcoat. He exhales, and though he wants it to come out relieved, it betrays him. “Professor. Are you here to pay repsects as well?”

They shake their head, brow raised with no words. Though hard to read them at times, Ashe knows they see right through him and his issues, to which he shakes his head and stands, though a bit wobbly on his feet. The hand tightens in support. “I’m alright. There is no need for concern. I should apologize for making you come here.” The five-ring bell of old had sounded who knew how long ago. “I should have been diligent in returning to the classroom or the dormitory.”

Again they shake their head, motioning toward Mercedes promptly scurrying toward the exit. “Ah, right…” With devout followers exiting at the sun’s departure, silence begins its conquest across the cathedral. Ashe averts his gaze to the colored tile, hair sweeping limply across his forehead. The professor’s hand did not disappear, rather becoming a weight threatening to topple him over. “Well, if there was nothing you desired of me...rather than the report I should have prepared of the cathedral…”

Nothing. Just silence. But the same question Ashe inquired resonated with the person in front of him.

“I...I’m sorry, Professor. I...cannot get over it just yet.” His voice echoes softly against the tiles and pillars, scattering across the open space and compelling him to continue. “Everyone may remain quiet on the subject or have their own opinions,”  _ that purple noble snob in the entrance hall, claiming his right to deign the roles of black and white,  _ “but he was...my family. He was kind and generous to everyone, no matter their station of birth. I understand his grief for Christophe’s execution…” It took all the willpower he could muster to keep those memories at bay: the gulliotine; the same old red; the practiced prayer of the knights and Lady Rhea, “yet I cannot understand why he went so far. Peace was in our grasps. If Catherine had not  _ provoked  _ him to battle her and her fancy Thunderbrand he would have listened, right?” 

Ashe raises his head as the Professor remains silent, the same expression on their face though more intent. “Maybe I could have convinced him to stop the attack. Though I am no noble of great influence, as his...I could have surely…” The world begins to sway and blur around him, colors merging and objects fading as everything reaches its end. Sunlight once pouring through the glass fades toward its source. “Even Lady Rhea was so intent on delivering him punishment, branding him a sinner. But...why? What good does it do the church to sprout their reputation around violence? How do they know right from wrong? How can she just  _ assume  _ the goddess would be pleased they slaughtered a man and his militia without understanding his intentions?!”

Devotion to the church never was a priority; if the goddess really walked the land amongst commoners in Zanado, she would know better than to let children turn to thievery to survive alongside family. “And now they assume she would be pleased if they execute the remnants of Lonato’s army without consultation, and assume she would grant them blessings for completing their ‘investigation’ of murder. How can they do it all, the hypocrites? How can they assume their actions are ethical enough for mercy?!” His eyes squeeze shut, memories flashing to the execution grounds few students knew of in the Knight’s Corner, watching each friend and neighbor scream just before the storm dulled their eyes, a sharp snapping sound freshly ringing in his ears. “The Church may be unscathed...but why...why must I accept it?”

“Ashe.”

It is neutral and professional in tone, yet something about it makes his head perk up from whence it sunk again, eyes opening to release fresh tears. The Professor in front of him is blurred and still in a neutral stance, but their brow is no longer furrowed in thought. Rather, they are relaxed downward, accompanied with a small frown and distraught eyes. Their other hand reaches around his shoulders, and instantly he finds himself against a sturdy frame built from years of mercenary work protected in comforting cloth. The hand on his shoulder moves behind his back, patting softly in a distinct pattern. Hugs are not foreign to Ashe, given the countless times he inspected for monsters under his siblings’ beds, and even Lonato and Christophe granted him hugs on occasion -  _ just before he departed for the Academy, the last time he knew peace  _ \- and they always created a sense of belonging he lost long ago. But this?

“You are allowed to grieve. I understand.” 

It is empathy, far beyond what His Highness could achieve.

And so he gives in, tears turning to bustling rapids upon his face. His sobs echo louder than the hymns ever did, despite being slightly muffled from the overcoat. Time itself stands still, the sun’s whereabouts unknown but no longer peeking from the floor. When does it start? When does it end? It matters not. Ashe’s hands fly around the Professor’s shoulders, latching tightly like a lifeline amidst his maelstrom of thoughts. His life was nowhere near a noble’s paradise, but the ideals he honored were. Stories he admired since he was taught to read - of kindness, of justice, of friendship - made up his demeanor and aspiriations. Surely if he just read those stories and practiced his combat skills, he could be just like the knights in the stories, or like the man who saved him from a worse fate. 

But if the hymns between the paragraphs were blessings, are the opposing cries heresies? 

So many cried that day. And today. What did it make him?

The Professor’s arms squeeze tighter around him, sigh escaping their lips as they begin to hum a familiar tune. Ashe recognizes it as one written by the Goddess herself, reflecting upon the flow of time and its changes. Lady Rhea had hummed it herself a few times on her strolls. 

Ashe’s eyes close, reflecting the Professor’s sigh. Not a sinner. But perhaps one mourning the death of true innocence and awakening to the horrid realities beyond it. 

He realizes then his cries are not heresies. They are a requiem to all he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> yes ashe roasted lorenz don't mind him
> 
> intsys please give me a picture of these two hugging thank you
> 
> catch me on twitter (@twistingmyleg) and tumblr (@twistmyleg). thanks for reading!


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